Page 96 of Pucking Daddy

Not when he looks at me like that.

So I nod. “Okay.”

Soon we’re inside the car, the door shutting behind us, the noise falling away.

I glance at Jaxon out of the corner of my eye and catch him exhaling—long, rough—as he leans back, dragging a hand over his face. “Jesus.”

A faint smile tugs at my lips, but it fades the second he takes my hand.

My breath catches.

This again. That dangerous, quiet shift between us.

“Jaxon—”

“Don’t,” he cuts in, but his voice isn’t sharp. It’s low. Rougher than before. “I don’t want to hear it right now, Zara.”

My pulse stumbles.

“There’s something between us,” he goes on, his voice tight with restraint. “You feel it. I know you do. Because I do.”

I swallow.

“It makes no sense pretending we don’t,” he continues. “Talking about boundaries like that’s going to fix anything. This—whatever this is—it’s already there.”

His grip on my hand tightens, his knuckles white against the leather of the seat.

“You’re supposed to be my future wife,” he says, his voice dropping to a gravelly silk. “So tell me why I’m supposed to keep my hands off you. Why I’m supposed to pretend I don’t want…” He breaks off, his jaw flexing as he stares through the window.

“Why you shouldn’t want what, Jaxon?”

He turns, his gaze heavy and dark. “Why I shouldn't want everything. Because right now? All I can think about is kissing you until you’re breathless, and then going down on you right here in this car. I’m telling you because you need to know exactly what’s happening in my head.”

The air in the cabin feels like it’s been sucked out. I swallow hard, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

“Okay,” I manage, the word barely a whisper.

He freezes, his eyes searching mine for any hint of a joke. “Okay, what?”

“Okay,” I repeat, finding my voice. “You can kiss me. And you can do... that.”

A low, guttural sound escapes his throat—half-growl, half-starved relief.

He doesn’t wait another second.

18

JAXON

Bumpy Ride

The partition between us and the driver is already up when I reach for her.

I tilt my head and close the final inch, my mouth finding hers with a desperate, pent-up intensity that blurs everything else into the background.

The kiss is everything this night has been—dark, quiet, and overwhelming. The exact opposite of a polite, staged peck between two people playing a role.

God.